5 Words That Changed How I Think About…Lots of Things

Project 365, Day 77/365

I am happy to report I had a far more successful lillordag this week than last. My body behaved mostly (had a second acupuncture session today!), we ordered dinner from one of my favorite nearby places, and there was a sweet treat that turned out to be a dud but the anticipation of it was at least worthwhile. Part of our new Wednesday tradition is taking turns picking a movie. Originally, one person got to pick what we ate, while the other person got to chose what we watched (or what we did), and while we haven’t done too great of a job sticking to it, we sort of did today. I’ll save the movie recommendation for Friday’s post, but what I will say is how satisfying it is not to argue back and forth about what to watch, ending up rewatching the same shows over and over again when you’ve exhausted yourself on not coming to any agreements. This week I pick, no questions asked, next week he picks, no questions asked. There’s something to this, likely some sort of relationship panacea, surely.

Anyhow, it’s not 11 pm, far later than when I normally write, so I’m going to keep this brief because my bed is calling my name. “Arlyn…come relaaaxxx.” Ohmygosh, you heard that, too? See, how can I resist that siren call.

I did want to share something with you all, however. Truthfully, I should probably give it more weight and room on this page that I likely will give it, because it really tickled my brain in a way that nothing has as of late. Let me set the scene. ::clears throat::

Earlier this week, as I was folding and putting away FOUR LOADS OF LAUNDRY (did you see my hamper post from yesterday?) one night after work, I decided to turn on an episode of “The Chef Show” on Netflix. If you haven’t seen it, it’s with Jon Favreau and chef Roy Choi who taught Jon everything about being a cook and cooking in a food truck for the movie “Chef.” What the show is about isn’t that important to this, but I do quite enjoy it. Check it out if you like watching people cook and chat. Most episodes, they bring in either another chef or someone from the movie industry that Jon knows, and this episode introduced me to director Robert Rodriguez. I didn’t know him by name, but I know of his movies, though not really my thing (things like Sin City, Desperado, From Dusk Till Dawn, etc.). Since I wasn’t super familiar with him as a person, or really his work, I was only half listening.

But then, my ear kept catching on to all the things he talked about knowing how to do. It was never braggadocios, it was just matter of fact. Here was a man with 50 movies under his belt, whipping up pizzas in his kitchen (equipped with a wood-burning oven, of course). He chatted about how he learned how to cook (his father sold pots and pans door to door growing up, so he regularly did cooking demos with him), and how the actors in his movies always tried to get an invite to his home for his pizzas. Then he started talking about how he decided he wanted to make homemade chocolates, so maybe he could sell them to people. He would just end up eating all his inventory, so he stopped. And when he said he learned how to make chocolates, he meant from cacao plant to finished product. Just ’cause.

Just five words, but they got me: “I learned how to learn.”

Then Robert pulled out a jar of honey for a dessert pizza he was whipping up for Jon and Roy, and he mentioned that they came from his own honeybees that were all over his property. He figured he’d learn how to keep bees because…why not? At that point, Roy, Jon and I (little do they know they’re sitting in the same sentence as me) all had the same reaction: How on earth do you know all these things? Robert’s answer was so simple. Just five words, but they got me: “I learned how to learn.”

He learned how to learn. Robert doesn’t focus on the overwhelming task of trying to know it all. He learned the patience and process of learning so that he could go out and learn anything he wanted. He taught himself that when you start something, you’re awful. It’s no good. But then you start tinkering. And you discover things, and you get better, and then after some time, you just know a thing. And, of course, we’re told that that’s how learning happens, but until you do just that, until you allow yourself the time, patience and grace of learning, of being bad and acknowledging that you know nothing, of slowly getting better and unlocking information for yourself along the way, you don’t actually know that that’s how learning works.

But like Robert, once you learn how to learn, you are equipped with the fortitude to go and learn just about anything else you want to learn. Mind. Blowing.

I get easily overwhelmed when I’m new to something. So much so that I typically give up quickly, not granting myself the time to be a neophyte. It’s sort of how “entry level” jobs these days seem to require 3-5 years experience. Society, or at least the workforce, doesn’t have time to let you learn. You need to just know or at the very least fake it ’til you make it, never admitting that you don’t come equipped with an arsenal of skill or knowledge for something YOU’VE NEVER DONE BEFORE.

THIS IS SOMETHING I HATE.

Someone I highly respect once told me that when she hires someone, she doesn’t expect them to be fully up and running for a year. That it takes at least that much time to have a fully independent employee who is confident enough to go forth, up to speed on what they need to know. But most people and places do not have such patience, and beyond anything career-oriented, we don’t have that patience for ourselves, at least I don’t.

The promise of unlocking something within myself, learning something new at the end of it all, keeps me going.

Part of the reason I started this project of writing every day is to see how much I can grow in the span of 365 days. I entered into it with a solid background in writing, but I’ve never done this exact thing, and the promise of unlocking something within myself, learning something new at the end of it all, keeps me going.

It’s taken nearly every day until only just recently to cut myself some slack. Some posts are going to be good, some posts are going to be crap, some posts are going to be “throw-away” posts, but I’m pretty okay with that now. I’ve worn the badge of Overachiever so proudly all my life, when really, how much of a disservice have I done myself by pretending to be good at everything? If it doesn’t come easily to me, it’s my inclination to move on, go on the hunt for something that doesn’t fight me so hard. I have news for myself, that’s no way to master anything. When I read Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers, I remember taking in the words about the 10,000 hours rule and feeling like I was choking on my own impatience. 10,000 hours to mastery?!? Is there anything I’ve spent that long practicing intensively that wasn’t thinking about my next meal or breathing? Eh, no probably not. That explains why I am not an elite anything. I do not master anything.

But really, this isn’t about mastery. That’s what gets me into trouble in the first place. It’s about learning to learn. No one said you had to do something to the level of once-in-a-lifetime-greatness. No one said anything at all, in this scenario, besides the inside of my head that has kept me back from so many things I’ve always thought would be fun to learn how to do if only I could skip right past the introductory period. Play the guitar (tried it in college, sucked, gave up). Make authentic French baguettes. Paint with watercolors. Plant and tend to a thriving garden. Sew clothes. So many things! Who knew the key to it all was a secret step before the doing of the things: learning how to learn.

What a morsel of enlightenment for me. Maybe it doesn’t mean much to you, but it’s one of those things I feel could rewire my brain. Lots to chew on there.

And with that, I leave you. I wrote far more than I thought I would, and while I didn’t weave a tapestry of beautiful prose while doing so, you know what? I’m giving myself a pass. It’s better to say something imperfectly than wait for the perfect words that may never come.

See you tomorrow, friends.